


Found You

by funnierinpylean



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Broken Bucky, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnierinpylean/pseuds/funnierinpylean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky shows up on Steve's doorstep -- dirty, weak, helpless -- and Steve does what he does best; takes care of his best friend. Whoever had Bucky before Steve found him had done their best to entirely break him, and now it's up to Steve to put him back together. Those who did this will pay -- but first, Steve has to make sure Bucky is okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found You

**Author's Note:**

> Just saw Cap 2, I'm not okay.
> 
> Had to leave before the end, so I didn't see the second post-credits scene with Bucky at the Smithsonian, so I think this story might be a little out of character with how Bucky really was at the end of the movie -- he clearly had it in him to sneak into a museum -- but I wanted Bucky whump and h/c, so that's what I wrote. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There was a knock on the door.

Steve looked up from the book he had been reading – Democracy in America, Tocqueville – with a slight frown. Who could it be? Surely no one he knew – his new place was off the grid, or at least that’s what Natasha had told him. It was one of her and Clint’s safe-houses, known only to them; not even S.H.I.E.L.D. had had knowledge of its existence. What was more, he hadn’t stirred from his home in two days. (He was on official R&R – doctor’s orders.) No one could have possibly tracked him, because he had given them nothing to track. S.H.I.E.L.D., which was in ruins, probably didn’t have the capacity to keep tabs on him either.

It was most likely a neighbor, thought Steve, as he walked to the front door, not bothering to take his reading glasses off. Could be the little girl who lived down the street, looking for an egg for her mother. He pulled the door open, and froze.

It was Bucky. Tore up and in rags, hair long and wild, but still; _Bucky_ , standing on his doorstep staring at him with empty eyes.

Steve brought his fists up, immediately ready for a fight. He half expected Bucky to throw a punch at him, to side-swipe him with a kick, to spin a throwing star in his direction. But Bucky did nothing of the sort; he simply stood there, staring blankly at Steve, seeing right through him to the room behind.

Steve looked at Bucky carefully, inspecting him. His friend was covered in dirt; he had evidently been sleeping outside, not taking much care to clean himself at all. There was a long gash down the side of Bucky’s face, and it looked as if it was starting to get infected; the skin surrounding the wound was puffed and unhealthy looking. His clothing was largely intact – HYDRA had taken care to outfit him well – but it was soiled and punctured. Steve slowly relaxed, and lowered his fists.

Bucky swayed towards him and Steve was there immediately, his arms under Bucky’s arms, holding him firmly. “I’ve got you,” said Steve, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. “Come on, Bucky. I’ve got you.” He was overpowered by the stench of his friend; a few weeks of outdoor living had not treated him well.

“Steve,” said Bucky, turning towards him, his voice cracking from unuse. “You’re Steve.”

“That’s right, Bucky,” said Steve, in the same reassuring tone. He shifted Bucky to his side, positioning his arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go, buddy,” he said, as he slowly let Bucky rest the majority of his weight on Steve. Steve walked Bucky into the house and carefully deposited him onto a kitchen chair.  

Steve opened the fridge. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to eat – Steve had just moved in, and didn’t have much in the way of provisions. He poured Bucky a glass of orange juice, and quickly slapped together a PBJ, with extra peanut butter and globs of grape jelly, just the way he knew Bucky liked it.

He turned towards Bucky, who was sitting slumped in his chair, staring straight ahead. Steve pulled up another chair and sat next to his friend. He placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and kneaded the thick muscle there, slowly. It was the shoulder that was still human, the one that wasn’t attached to the false arm that had so disturbed Steve, just a few weeks earlier.

“Hey Buck,” said Steve, tenderly. He moved his hand up to Bucky’s neck, continuing to massage. Bucky was stiff as a board. “How about some food, okay?”

Bucky met his gaze. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were red from dehydration. His attention shifted to the sandwich. He reached out and grabbed it with his metal arm, finishing the meal in two large bites. He drank the orange juice, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when done. He looked at his empty plate with his head bowed; his unwashed, knotted hair falling forward, obscuring his face.

“I fought you,” said Bucky, quietly.

“On the helicarrier,” said Steve, looking at Bucky seriously.

“You helped me,” said Bucky. “I still don’t know who you are,” he said, eyes briefly meeting Steve’s before turning back towards the table.

“That’s okay,” said Steve. “You’ll remember.”

“Will I?” asked Bucky, sounding lost, like a little boy, almost.

“Yeah, buddy. You will. I’m here for you. ‘Til we’re both dead and gone.”

“I don’t know how I got here,” said Bucky, voice empty.

“That’s okay,” said Steve. “We’ll figure it out together.” He resisted the sudden urge to push back Bucky’s dirty hair, to reveal the face that had been his constant companion throughout childhood, the man whom he had been closest to in his life. He let Bucky sit, hidden. He’ll come out when he’s ready, thought Steve, and wondered where his conviction came from.

 

* * *

 

First step was dealing with that cut on Bucky’s face. Steve rooted through the Walgreens bag on the countertop, and took out the Neosporin and the cotton balls he had just bought. He sat next to Bucky, who turned to look at him, and dipped a washcloth in a bowl of warm water and squeezed out the excess liquid. Carefully, slowly, he lifted the washcloth to Bucky’s face and sponged the wound, wiping away dirt and blood and the little bits of rock that had somehow gotten lodged there.  Bucky exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to the ground.

“We might have to give you some antibiotics, Buck,” said Steve. “Can’t be too careful, these days.”

Bucky said nothing.

He unscrewed the Neosporin and squeezed out some onto a cotton ball, which he then proceeded to gently apply to Bucky’s cut. He continued, as if this were a normal conversation he was having with his best friend. “I’ll ask Natasha to bring some. She knows about this stuff,” he said. “And then we’re going to get you clean, and then you’re going to sleep. In a bed.”

Suddenly Bucky gripped his forearm, stilling Steve.

“You don’t have to do this for me,” said Bucky. “I can leave.”

“I want to do this for you,” said Steve.

“I don’t want… want to be a burden,” said Bucky, quietly.

“You’re no burden,” said Steve firmly, resuming his work. “You’re never a burden. Come on,” he said, standing up.

Bucky slowly stood, leaning on the table for support. Steve wondered at how weak this man had become, this man who had always been the one Steve had leaned on for support. But it was more than simple nostalgia for his friend; Steve was genuinely perplexed at how the greatest assassin of the last 70 years was in his kitchen, barely able to stand. HYDRA had turned him into a super-villain, but in doing so, had evidently stripped away his basic ability to care for himself.

“What’s happening, Bucky? Talk to me,” he said, quietly.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where I am. Someone gave me this,” he said, putting his hand in his pocket and withdrawing a cheap-looking phone, a GPS app glowing on the screen. “It led me here. I’ve been so hungry,” he said. Steve took the phone from Bucky. He turned it over, looking at it intensely. He’d have to show it to Tony. He’d tell him more about it.

“However you came, I’m glad you’re here,” said Steve, seriously. He put his hands on Bucky’s arms, gently guiding him out of the kitchen and upstairs, to the bathroom. Bucky’s metal arm felt cool to the touch, so unlike the rest of Bucky, which was burning, twitching violently underneath his fingers. Steve drew a warm bath while Bucky tried (and failed) to undress himself. He couldn’t seem to figure out how to work the complicated looking straps holding his vest together. Steve took over, biting his tongue as he worked Bucky free, stripping him layer by layer. The clothes fell by the wayside, and Steve looked at them with some distaste, telling himself he’d bag and throw them as soon as he was able. Finally Bucky stood before Steve, naked and shivering.

There was a total lack of self-consciousness as Steve guided Bucky into the hot bath, helping his friend lower himself down. He remembered the times he had seen Bucky nude – it had usually involved some sort of skinny dipping when they were young. Of course, they had bathed together when they were enlisted – war tended to deprioritize the desire for privacy. But it had never been like this, never had he seen Bucky so vulnerable, so childlike. He sat on the floor of the bathroom and watched Bucky soak for a while. Bucky paid no mind to Steve; his eyes were closed and his arms floated in the water.

After five minutes, Steve coaxed Bucky to a standing position. He rolled up his sleeves, lathered a washcloth with soap, and started rubbing Bucky down as Bucky watched. He worked steadily, sloughing off the dirt and sweat and blood. Steve pulled the plug on the tub, and the now-filthy water swirled down the drain, leaving tracks of black dirt on the sides of the tub.

Steve started the shower, and Bucky hardly reacted as warm water poured down over him. His long hair fell in front of his face like a curtain, and Steve almost laughed at the image. He squeezed a good amount of shampoo onto his palm, and carefully lathered it into Bucky’s hair, working systematically at the knots, and massaging his roots. He ran his fingers through Bucky’s now-smooth hair as the shower washed the shampoo away.

He helped Bucky out of the shower, and Bucky stood naked, dripping onto the bathmat. Steve rifled through the closet for a fresh towel, and started drying Bucky off, the way one would a child. He got on his knees to work on his torso and his legs, surprised at how unexpectedly normal it felt to be this intimate with Bucky. Finally, he stood up and began toweling off Bucky’s hair, mussing it up completely. He pulled it back, out of Bucky’s eyes. “First thing tomorrow, this _goes_ ,” he muttered, toweling Bucky’s hair with distaste. He caught the merest hint of a smile on Bucky’s lips.

“This way, Buck,” he said, guiding Bucky into his bedroom. He threw back the corner of the comforter and helped Bucky into bed, tucking him. Bucky reached out with his normal hand and grabbed onto Steve’s hand, squeezing as much as he could.

“Thank you,” rasped Bucky, his eyes closed. Steve didn’t trust himself to say anything. He stroked Bucky’s hair with the hand not captured in Bucky’s grasp.

“You’re with me now, Bucky,” he said.

Steve stayed with Bucky until his breathing evened out, until his grip on his hand loosened. He turned the lights out, and went back downstairs. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is gen, for now. If I feel like changing it, I might just do that!
> 
> update: I don't think I'm going to continue this fic. Sorry guys! It's just too ooc for me, now. I'll definitely be writing more Bucky, and more Steve/Bucky though. Stay tuned.


End file.
